


Tempting Fate

by grey2510



Series: Misc SPN Works (<15k words) [24]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Destiel if you squint, Episode: s13e19 Funeralia Coda, Gen, Old Age, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s13e19 Funeralia, it's MCD but the deaths aren't gruesome or shocking, it's bittersweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 07:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14373948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: It's Rowena's fate to die by the hand of Sam Winchester, but maybe it's not as black and white as it seems.





	Tempting Fate

It's almost a month after they've confronted Lucifer and the other world's Michael, after they've said goodbye to Mary and Jack, who have decided to stay in the other world to help fix it, that Rowena calls.

"Rowena? You ok?"

"Oh Samuel, I'm almost a little surprised, nay hurt, that you haven't come knocking on my door now that Lucifer is no more."

Her voice lilts in flirtation and mock admonishment, but there's an undercurrent of something else there, too. Sam frowns, stealing a glance over at Dean who is luckily just far enough away to not have heard him answer the phone—or he's too absorbed in whatever he's looking at on his laptop (Sam generally prefers not to ask) to have noticed. In either case, Sam walks into the hallway to take the call.

"You took off after Lucifer—"

"Of course I did," she replies. "But it's not as though I ran off to become a nun."

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "What do you want, Rowena?"

The flirtation drops from her voice instantly and that undercurrent surfaces—slightly tremulous, cautious. "I want…" She stops, and Sam can hear the words die in her throat. He can picture her, shaking her head, straightening herself, as she speaks again. "I don't want anything from _you._ "

Sam leans against the tiled wall, his head ducking slightly under the curve of the hallway's arched ceiling. "You redeemed yourself, Rowena. I'm not coming after you."

"Well, I suppose defeating the literal Devil will do that to a person," she replies; her voice strives for nonchalance, but it's brittle. "But that doesn't change Death's books."

"You've changed destiny before." But Sam's made this argument before. Even he's not sure he entirely believes it. "We don't have to do this."

Rowena's quiet for a moment. "There is a way, Sam. I've seen your work: you're not a natural witch, but you've got potential—"

Sam huffs a dark laugh. "What, so you'll train me up as your protégé and then we live forever? Sidestep this whole thing?"

"Could be worse fates. I've seen a lot over the centuries. I'm sure there's plenty more to see."

"We're getting into Appointment in Samarra territory, here." Sam runs a hand through his hair. The sad thing is, it's not even the strangest offer he's ever gotten. "It's not for me, Rowena. I never wanted that, the power, any of it."

"Are you sure, Sam?"

Sam's jaw clenches. She's not entirely wrong and he hates that she knows that, that she recognizes that in him. In his mind, Lucifer's eyes flash red in memory, there was the thrill of demon blood, or Sam's reckless determination that killed Charlie, unleashed the Darkness, that even started him in this uneasy alliance with Rowena…

"I'm sure."

"Well, if you change your mind…"

Before he can answer, she hangs up. Sam stays leaning against the wall for a long few minutes, his muscles feeling both loose with exhaustion and tense with...stress? Eventually, he pockets his phone and returns to the library. Time to find a case.

 

***

 

There's a gun loaded with witch-killing bullets in his hand, pointed to the ground, and it feels as heavy as the Impala.

"Has our time come?" Rowena stands across the dark parking lot, and even the orange harshness of a streetlight can't diminish her: her hands are in a well-cut black trench coat over what seems to be a business suit, her red hair cascades over her shoulders, and her chin is jutted out at him, daring him.

At her feet is the body of a local businessman: a real estate developer. The third death in this town this week.

"Why'd you do it?"

Rowena's eyes narrow. "Everyone has debts to pay."

"And what was his? What did he do to you?" He adjusts his grip on the gun. She can't kill him, not for good at least, but serious injury is still in the cards. He doesn't think she'd do it, but he's been wrong before.

"Nothing to me." Rowena paces around the body, glancing down at it dispassionately. "But I'm sure the ladies down at the shelter would have some stories for you." She looks up and must notice Sam's furrowed brow because she continues, "Tell me, did you notice when our Mr. Haverford here and the contractor and the city manager all saw their stars start to rise?"

He hadn't yet—Dean was researching the connections, but Sam'd spotted Rowena in a CCTV still and had gone out to find her. But something clicks in that moment.

"Ten years, right? Crossroads deals."

"Always were a bright one, Samuel." She smiles coyly at him.

The pieces start to fall together and he voices his train of thought as he speaks. "You're collecting on Crowley's deals. Why?"

"Nothing better to do, I suppose," she answers, but her tone invites contradiction, as if to say, _come on, you can figure it out_.

"But Crowley's deals would have been voided when he died, wouldn't they?"

Rowena laughs. "My Fergus was always a wee bit smarter than that. Hell still gets the soul, but they get to live for however long Mother Nature—or Mother MacLeod, in this case—lets them after their ten years."  

Something niggles in Sam's mind. "The pharmaceutical people—when you went after Billie. That's how you knew about them, who to kill."

"Might have jumped the gun on those, so to speak. Eight years, ten years, who's counting?"

"Yeah, well, killing the reapers didn't help either."

"Bygones, dear." Rowena nods towards the gun. "So, you never answered my question. Has our time come?"

Sam looks down at the man. He only has Rowena's word that this man is deserving of his fate. He thumbs the safety back on. "No. Not today."

"Remember my offer," she calls back to him as she walks away. As she goes, she raises a hand and the body bursts into flames. Sam blinks at the sudden light against his eyes before turning and heading back to the car.

He starts the engine just as Dean texts him: _vics all part of plan to raze a womens shelter.. super skeevy wheeling n dealing_

So she wasn't lying. He's about to respond when Dean sends another text: _u find anything?_

 _Yeah_ , he texts back. _Fill u in when i'm back_

Case closed.

 

***

 

"You're pretty juiced up but you're not invincible, you know," Sam says, not even thinking, as he helps her with her wounded abdomen. She might be the most powerful witch they know, but an angel blade still cuts deep and she'd used most of her power in the fight.

Rowena's breathing heavily and her eyes flicker faint lilac before turning back to their usual green. "Of course I know _that_ , and so do _you_."

Unintentionally, as her words catch him off guard, Sam pulls harder on the last stitch and she grimaces, sucking air between her teeth.

"Sorry," he mumbles as he ties off the thread before covering it with gauze. His hands move automatically; how many hundreds of times has he done this? "Just try not to pull them. Should heal up soon."

Rowena turns on the edge of the bed—a much nicer bed than the one he'll be sleeping in tonight. Thankfully, she'd managed enough of a distraction spell on the concierge to get them through the lobby and up to her hotel room. As much as crappy motels suck, at least he and Dean don't have to worry as much about getting the cops called on them all the damn time when they come back from a hunt. But as handy as her little mental fog spell had been, Sam's got no intentions to dabble in magic like that.

"I'll be fine in a few hours, once my strength's back." She tilts her head, her red lips turn up at the corners, and she pats the bed. "But if you want to stay until I'm ready for some more strenuous activity…"

Sam coughs and laughs. "I think I'll pass, but thank you."

"Your loss." Her grin widens and she gives him a once over. "Mine, too, unfortunately."

It's a familiar bit by now and Sam wonders if Rowena actually thinks he'll ever give in, ever be tempted. She's still gorgeous, even fifteen years since they'd first met, but what's a decade and a half to a centuries-old witch who still looks like she's in her thirties? He, on the other hand, is more grey than he would like to admit at this point—more grey than Dean, which his brother never fails to tease him about (even if ever since Dean's hit the big five-oh, he's started pulling the old man "when I was your age" bullshit, probably preemptively so that Sam can't use it against him)—and he's starting to feel each hunt and fight deep in his bones and muscles. He's not that old, but there are days he feels ancient. There's a world of difference between a hunter forty-six and a Hollywood forty-six.

They're quiet for a moment, then Rowena asks, like she always does, "Still not our time?"

"You're the one who pulled _me_ out of there."

"It would have been a terrible waste: Sam Winchester mangled and broken by falling timber." She raises her hand dramatically to her forehead, like she's about to faint, before dropping her hand to her lap again. "So, just a reprieve, then? Give me a head start?"

"That's not how it's going to be, Rowena." Sam gets up from the chair he'd pulled beside the bed.

She nods and her fingers trace the bottom hemline of her jacket. "Suppose I'll see you in the morning?"

Sam reaches out, touches her briefly on the shoulder before letting go. "We both know you'll be gone by then."

"Aye," she smiles, but it's clear her heart isn't in it. "Girl needs to keep a bit of mystery and intrigue about her, doesn't she?"

"Good night, Rowena."

"Good night, Sam."

 

***

 

"Sam."

"Billie."

Death's eyes gleam in the soft light of his bedside lamp. Not for the first time, he wishes he'd taken Dean's suggestion to move out of the Bunker, live out his retirement in a house, some place with windows. Dean and Cas had, but Sam'd never felt he belonged there, and besides, he'd had work to do. Jody and Claire and Donna had started training new hunters in South Dakota and Minnesota, but the wealth of knowledge and resources in the Bunker couldn't stay hoarded away in the hands of two aging hunters and an angel. Since then, the Bunker was a revolving door of hunters and trainees, and Sam had finally accepted Bobby's legacy.

And then when Dean had died two years ago—heart attack fixing the roof at the age of eighty-three, the stubborn bastard—well, Sam could barely bring himself to set foot in the house to help Cas sell it, never mind try for a place like that for himself. Plus, at seventy-nine, he'd figured he was too old start over.

So here he is now, alone in the Bunker with Death. Well, not entirely alone: there's at least three other people in the place, maybe five if Melita and Travers have gotten in yet. He thinks he should be afraid, or that he should call someone, but it's time.

"Not quite your time, yet," Billie says, crossing her arms, as if she can read his mind. She probably can. "You still have work to do."

He knows what she means.

"No." A thousand arguments rise to his lips but they die when she raises an eyebrow and fixes him with a look. "Screw destiny, Billie."

"You Winchesters. Never put much stock in cosmic rules." She looks around the room, still mostly bare, though he's acquired a few trinkets here and there. Mostly, though, the free surfaces are covered in books and notebooks, his life's work. "'Course you never stopped to ask yourself if maybe there was a reason it had to be you."

Sam snorts, but it almost becomes a hacking cough. Damn lungs. "Yeah, well, they said the same thing about the Apocalypse. Look how that turned out."

Billie smiles cryptically, but before she can say anything else, there's a knock at the door and Death fades from sight. Sam frowns, blinks. Did he imagine it…?

"Sam?" The voice is young, male, and it takes a moment for Sam to put a name to it: Javier. "Sorry to bother you, sir, but—"

Sam rolls his eyes as he hauls himself out of bed, every joint aching. He's practically wheezing when he gets to the door and opens it. "What?"

Javier blanches at Sam's glare. He's only twenty-three, smart as a whip, but still a damn kid in so many ways. "There's, um, someone—"

"I don't need a grand introduction, lad," Rowena's voice carols as she steps into view. She grins at Javier whose eyes widen. "Now run along. The adults have things to discuss."

Javier nods, his head practically bobbling off his neck, and then he scurries away. Sam opens the door and Rowena sweeps in like she's in Buckingham Palace and not a military-esque bunker.

His grip is tight on the doorknob, even after he closes it, but he waves off Rowena's look of concern as he shuffles back to the bed. Ten years ago, he would have been bothered by the fact that he's not properly dressed and that it's the middle of the night, but he's just so damn tired.

"Oh, Sam," she murmurs. Sitting on the bed beside him, she covers one of his hands with her own, and the other cradles his face. "It doesn't have to be like this, you stubborn numbskull."

"You know it does."

"If you just let me—"

Sam sighs. He knows she could do it, make him as young and hale as he once was. "No."

Rowena's eyes rove over his face and her hand drops from his cheek. "I thought so." She reaches into her jacket pocket, pulls out a vial that glows a murky green—a far cry from her usual purple magics. It makes his stomach turn to look at it for very long. "It's our time, isn't it?"

"No, Rowena, I just told Bil—" Sam hunches over, covering his mouth with his arm as he coughs. Rowena rubs his back and Sam both welcomes the small comfort and resents it. This isn't the first time he's died, but this time it's different: he can feel it everywhere, in every part of him.

"I know," she says. Her voice is low, gentle. "But it's time. I've had a good run, and that's just it—I can't run forever. I don't think I want to."

Sam wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and takes a breath to steady himself before looking up at her. Her eyes are still green and lovely, her hair is still curly and red and piled high on her head, her clothes are still stunning and regal. But etched in every line and angle of her body, he sees the same story: she's ready.

"Are you sure?"

"I've lived a long time. I've done everything I wanted to do." She smirks and gives him a wink. "Well, almost everything."

Despite himself, he smiles. "Sorry to disappoint."

"It's a tragedy." She takes one of his hands into her lap and presses the vial into his hands, curling his fingers around the cool glass. Her eyes are bright and wet, but she still smiles bravely. "What do you say, Samuel? One last drink?"

From the corner of his eye, he can make out the faint form of Billie. Rowena's eyes follow his gaze, then flick back; her smile falters slightly and he knows she can see Death, too.

He totters up from the bed and Rowena pretends she's not helping by looping her hand through the crook of his elbow. He nods as he looks down at her. "One last drink."

  

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated!  
> Check out my other works (sorted by series for easier navigation):  
> [Grey's works](http://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/series)  
> Come visit me on Tumblr! @[grey2510](https://grey2510.tumblr.com/)


End file.
